


forget me not

by blueparacosm



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, dynamic study, flowers and stuff, pretty words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueparacosm/pseuds/blueparacosm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The air seems sweeter than before, Bellamy thinks, as the wind steals a bloom from the waves of brown and blood. That’s okay. He’s learning forgiveness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forget me not

The sweet breath of early spring sneaks through grinding teeth, and is carried out on an unbearable whistle through his nose. Even warriors have allergies.

Perhaps his time on the outskirts of the territory, snaking between clumps of weeds and wildflowers until duty calls for him, is to blame. Though this is his peace now, this is the only place that belongs to him.

Even his mind is no longer his.

Bellamy twirls a forget-me-not-- he feels a little forgotten-- plucked from the unforgiving earth between tan fingers, closes his eyes as a bitter wind tousles his hair. He didn’t have this on the Ark. He didn’t have anything-- not after his mother left for the stars and his sister, another cage. He’s not sure he has anything now. He needs to be needed.

He sniffs, presses his eyes with a scarred fist.

Allergies.

The boy with a head of curls cracks his aching knuckles, taking special care of the fragile flowers in his palms. They probably deserved to be crushed-- something so beautiful shouldn’t be allowed to live so easily-- but he’s learning forgiveness.

The trees don’t sway like the books said they would. Augustus’ soul left in Nola, not with his sister, like the books said. The Princess isn’t locked in the castle, he is. That’s not what the books said. 

The knight wasn’t supposed to fear the dragon, but his heart drops to his stomach when the fire-breather stumbles into sight. 

That’s just not what the books said.

“Murphy?”

“In the-” The boy pauses. “Some flesh.” He runs a hand over a gash in his cheek and wipes the blood on his thigh to emphasize.

“Let’s get you to Medical.” Bellamy says quietly, but makes no effort to stand.

Murphy smiles, something shark-like, and takes a seat next to him in the grass. “Aren’t you going to ask where I’ve been?” 

“Where have you been, Murphy?”

“None of your god damn business.” he whispers, grinning to himself and tearing a green blade into pieces.

Bellamy humors him with a breathy laugh, but it’s cut short when the kid picks his head up too abruptly, meets Bellamy’s eyes too easily.

“Where have you been, Bellamy?”

Bellamy scoffs, digs his left hand into the dirt where the other can’t see him, grasping for something, anything.

“I’ve been around.”

The one with the creamy skin and the bad attitude rolls his eyes, pulls his knees to his chest and places his chin atop them.“I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Murphy touches his wound again, drawing Bellamy’s eyes. “It’s pretty deep, yeah?”

“Yeah.” the eldest croaks, and lies down with a gust of wind bringing sleep to dulling eyes. Murphy follows, as always.

As always.

The little blue flowers in Bellamy’s clenched fists are crumpled and broken. It fits nicely, he thinks, as he turns on his side and places them strategically, neatly into the fire-breather’s hair.

Murphy’s eyes flutter, before they close again. The tiniest of smiles graces his broken, cracked lips. The air seems sweeter than before, Bellamy thinks, as the wind steals a bloom from the waves of brown and blood. That’s okay. He’s working on forgiveness.

Bellamy collapses on his side again, watching the rise and fall of the dragon’s chest. He likes the sharpness of his features and his words, he decides. Bellamy likes the way his tongue burns and his hands leave ash on everything they touch, yet his eyes are soft, hopeful.

The knight and the dragon aren’t so different.

The knight and the dragon are tired, no, exhausted. The knight loved the rush once, the gleaming sword dipped in fire-breather’s blood and the flames licking at his heels.

Once.

Now the dragon lies at his feet, forgotten forget-me-nots under his scales, and Bellamy thinks his warmth might be the something.

The something of his.

Maybe he’s not entitled to it, but he knows the breather is generous with his fire. So he pries open Murphy’s hand, presses one last wildflower into a palm bathed in red. Blue eyes crash into his like waves, overpowering and then gentle retreat, and Bellamy tests the waters, presses his lips to the boy’s temple.

Murphy laughs, something soft and dripping in pain. “Where have you been, Bellamy?”

“I’ve been around.” Bellamy breathes him in, and even with ash lining his lungs, the air smells sweet. Murphy closes his eyes again, reaches for the freckled boy’s hand. “Stay around."

Bellamy's eyes cloud, fill with Murphy's oceans until they spill over.

Allergies.


End file.
